


Taxi!

by EbonyKnight



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 02:58:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9301046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyKnight/pseuds/EbonyKnight
Summary: Greg learns the secret of Sherlock's magical ability to flag down a taxi whenever he needs one. And maybe gets lucky at the same time.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chatsworth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chatsworth/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything associated.
> 
> This is unabashed fluff. Tooth rotting fluff. No spoilers for anything, and no angst. Just a lot of fluff. Have had more than enough angst to last a life time after The Lying Detective. 
> 
> Inspired by trying to flag down taxis during a recent trip to London; it really is not as easy as Sherlock makes it look, believe me!
> 
> Dedicated to my dear friend Sharon, with very much love.
> 
> Any feedback is always welcome.
> 
> Not beta'd so all mistakes are all mine. I'm greedy like that.

The Cross Keys on a Friday night was always busy, but on this particular Friday it seemed to Greg that every available inch of space was accounted for. The corner of the pub he was occupying with Sherlock was so tight that their knees touched under the table and their fingers brushed if they reached for their drinks at the same time. Before pint number one, Greg was acutely aware that the sight of two romantically involved men out for a drink together was likely to incite crass and insulting comments from their fellow patrons, and he was careful to avoid behaviour that would give them away. By the time his fifth pint glass was half empty he was deliberately pressing his right leg between Sherlock’s parted thighs, and was leaning in close enough that his lips brushed the other man’s ear when he spoke. 

“You were magnificent arresting Johnson today,” Sherlock said, breath hot against Greg’s cheek. “Had we been alone I'm not sure that I'd have been able to keep my hands off you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Greg asked, their lips so close that it would take very little to bring them together. 

Sherlock’s hand landed on Greg’s thigh and moved steadily higher until his long fingers were tantalisingly close to Greg’s crotch. “Hmm. The way you pressed him to the wall and held him there with your body was…inspiring; I was almost jealous.”

Unable to resist any longer, Greg leant in and closed the gap between their lips. Sherlock returned the kiss hungrily, his free hand tangling in Greg’s hair to pull him closer. Between the kind of adrenaline high that only ever comes after a big arrest and the alcohol running through his veins, Greg’s inhibitions were absent without leave and he couldn't have cared less. Sherlock, having little respect for notions of personal space at the best of times, was doing his damnedest to climb into the Greg’s lap, and the older man was only too happy to encourage him.

Greg pulled away when the need for air became too great and felt a flare of something deeply carnal at Sherlock’s frustrated whine. “We finishing the drinks or leaving now?” he asked, voice rough with desire.

“Now: if you don’t get me home soon, you’ll have to arrest us both for public indecency.” 

Greg laughed and stood up, quickly becoming aware of just how aroused he was when the seam of his trousers dug uncomfortably into his erection. “Your place or mine?” he asked with a cheesy grin. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood, shrugging into his coat. “Baker Street is closer than Brixton,” he replied, striding away purposefully, forcing his way between the other patrons and the tightly packed tables. 

The night was cold enough that their breath fogged before them as they stepped out into the street, and Greg was very glad for his thick coat. Sherlock, normally so graceful in his movements, stumbled slightly and Greg caught him, wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him as throngs of weekend partygoers streamed around them. “You’re such a light weight. No wonder you were in one of my cells before last orders on John’s stag night.”

Sherlock huffed a laugh and nuzzled into Greg’s neck. “How do you know I didn’t just want an excuse to do this?” he murmured, sucking the sensitive spot just below Greg’s right ear.

“Fuck,” Greg moaned, pulling Sherlock in for a kiss right there in the middle of a busy London street. It wasn't until he heard a group of passing women giggle that he came to his senses and put some distance between them. “Taxi,” he said breathlessly, “we need a taxi.”

He turned to face the road, looking both ways, but though there were several taxis travelling in both directions, not one of them had its sign lit. “A fucking million taxis and not one of them available,” Greg snapped, frustration making him impatient. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Sherlock replied, a hint of mischief in his voice. He stepped up to the edge of the pavement and flung his arm out. “Taxi!” he called imperiously, and, to Greg’s amazement, the sign on top of one of the vehicles on the opposite side of the road lit up and the car made a U-turn, pulling up directly beside them. 

Stunned, Greg stood there for a moment, staring incredulously at the car. “How the _fuck_ do you do that?” 

Sherlock smirked and opened the door, waving Greg in with a dramatic curtsey. “After you, sir.”

Greg shook his head and climbed in, Sherlock close behind. “221b Baker Street,” Sherlock told the driver, and the taxi merged easily into the traffic.

“Seriously, how do you do it?”

“You've seen how,” Sherlock said, shuffling along the back seat until he was pressed tightly against Greg’s side. “I flag the taxi down and it stops.”

Having Sherlock plastered against him was too much for Greg and he tugged the younger man in for a kiss by the collar of his coat, which was apparently all the encouragement Sherlock needed to straddle Greg’s lap. It was a testament to how much Sherlock affected him that the older man didn't realise just how involved their kiss had become until the cabbie cleared his throat pointedly. “Enough of that, if you don’t mind,” he said, disapproval clear in his voice.

Sherlock pulled away with a huff and settled back into his seat, though he left very little space between them. Greg looked at him, taking in his dilated pupils, flushed cheeks, and puffy lips. He was acutely aware of just how close Sherlock was and the rest of the journey to Baker Street was painfully slow. He watched the houses flashing by as they passed, willing the distance away. “Come on, tell me how you do it,” he said, hoping that conversation would make the time pass more quickly. “No matter what I do, I have to walk for at least five minutes to find a taxi at this time of night.”

“There have got to be some advantages to having an older brother who habitually stalks me with CCTV,” Sherlock replied amusedly, stroking Greg’s thigh. 

“Oh, right,” Greg replied intelligently, completely distracted by the hand working its way up his leg. 

Alcohol and arousal combined to focus all of Greg’s attention onto Sherlock and his wandering, stroking hands, so much so that he was surprised when the taxi came to a stop. He worked his wallet out of his pocket in a haze of beer and lust, and fished out a twenty pound note, thrusting it through the gap in the Perspex barrier. “Keep the change,” he said following Sherlock out of the car and onto the street. 

The night air was cold, but that didn't matter for they were soon through the door into the warm. Greg followed Sherlock up the stairs to his flat, as close as he could get without tripping the younger man up. Inside was an absolute mess, with piles of papers here, and chemical experiments there, but Greg’s attention was solely focussed on Sherlock, who had him pinned to the wall, thigh pressing between Greg’s legs, as soon as the door was closed behind them. “Now, where were we?”


End file.
